Chapter 1 #19
“It was a few hours before the first scheduled mutated birth trial. Everyone was so excited. A fever had spread through the desert campus. But Weisbrot stopped by my office that morning out of the blue, and he told me he would sign any program-cancellation proposal that I drew up. Somehow he’d seen right through me, all my doubts. He knew. He fucking knew.”
Tim waited for him to go on.
“At first, I didn’t say anything. Hell, I didn’t know what to say. And then before I could get the words out, he started laughing. But… the thing is… his eyes weren’t laughing. They were dead serious.”
“What did you do then?”
Lane looked away into the dark, remembering.
“That’s the worst part, I think. Weisbrot started to laugh, trying to pretend the whole idea had just been his stupid idea of a joke…
and then I started laughing right along with him.
You get what I’m saying, son? I never said a word.
It was our one chance… our last chance to stop all of this. And all I did was fucking laugh.”
“You think Weisbrot came to your office to—”
“I think he knew deep in his heart the same thing I knew in mine. That our work belonged dead and buried. With such amazing progress, why were we the only ones wondering what would become of us once the monsters actually belonged to us?
“I tried to justify it to myself after he left. I thought he was just scared. Cold feet, y’know?
But all I could really think was Nobody has to die anymore.
If our soldiers were replaced by Scorpions, then no more boots on the ground.
No more cold war euphemisms or mutually assured destruction.
All I could see were my own ghosts—Jeffy, Doyle, Jorge, Carson, Petey, Timbo, Bob-O, Louie—the friends this country sacrificed on an altar of bullshit.
“Maybe if I had just acknowledged that he was trying to help me, help all of us, he wouldn’t have had to do what he did.
Be all alone in the end. Maybe there would’ve been no end.
If I had been a good soldier, I never would’ve let him on that truck.
Not anywhere near it. He should’ve been flown to Portland first class but instead he volunteered himself to go along for the ride and I didn’t protest. Didn’t object. Didn’t know how fucking far he’d go.
“Weisbrot did it because he was more afraid of us than he was of them. Jeremy loved his Scorpions like the Grizzly Man loved bears. He knew they were born powerless, slaves destined to become mindless weapons.”
“Did you think he did the right thing? At the time?”
“Oh… yeah,” Lane said, wiping away another tear. “The world would have ended one way or another with the Scorpions as our war dogs. We would have seen to that, I’m sure. It would have all turned out the same in the end. But that was when I still believed we could beat them.”
“And now?”
“That all depends. Will they keep making our same old mistakes?”
A crack of thunder, right over the top of them, heralded the opening sky. Fat raindrops came splashing down all around them, playing a staccato rhythm on the hard pavement. Tim grabbed Lane’s papers and hurried to shove them back into the old man’s knapsack, then zipped it shut tight.
Lane snatched up the lantern, and they started making their way back to the White House.
KRRRAK!
KRRAARRK!
KRRRAK!
KRRRRAAAARRRRK!
They stopped and turned to each other, suddenly oblivious to the rain.
“Did you hear that?” Tim asked, raising his voice above the storm.
“I heard something…” And then Lane was pointing over Tim’s shoulder. “Wait… look!”
Tim pivoted, eyes searching. There, between the columns of silver-white lightning that bridged the gap between heaven and hell, was a second tempest threatening to devour the city.
Maybe two hundred yards away, illuminating several blocks of a westward street, a storm of whirlpool blue. Scorpion eyes.
“KRRRRRAAAAARRRRRK!!!”
“Timbo, we need to go!” Lane shouted. “Now! Did you leave anything downstairs?”
“I brought my pack and shotgun upstairs, but they’re still inside.” Tim raised his stolen pistol. “This is all I’ve got.”
“Trust me, you’ve got a helluva lot more—take it all and go.”
Tim started toward the White House, but after only a few strides, he realized Lane wasn’t coming with him. He turned back and shouted, “What are you waiting for?”
“Just go! I’ll catch up!”
“We need to get back to the safe rooms. Or we should try to reach the Metro! They can’t—”
“Stop it!” Lane charged right at him, took him by the shoulders. “Think, kid. You know any other Scorps that go out at night? Look at it, dammit, it’s coming straight toward us. Beelining it. It’s gotta be your three-eyed friend.”
Tim stared into the hurricane glow. “Can’t be. The Nightwalker’s dead.”
“If they died that easy, we wouldn’t be here.”
“So what? We can outrun it. I—”
“That thing is a goddamn bloodhound from beyond the stars! It has your scent memorized and can smell for miles. It’s not going to give up, not until it’s satisfied. Especially since you did a number on that fucker. It’ll just keep on coming. Again and again and again. Until one of you is dead.”
“We can hide, we can—” Tim froze mid-sentence.
Lane had drawn his own pistol. It was leveled at Tim.
“What the hell are you doing?” He was more insulted than alarmed.
“Saving your life. Now go! When I’m done, I’ll come find you in the Metro.”
“What’re you gonna do by yourself? Let me help!”
“It’s hard enough sneaking up on a six-eyed bastard…
damn near impossible with your smell sticking to me.
How do you think it found us?” With his free hand, the old man reached into his pack and pulled out a small round object, which he quickly stuffed into his pocket.
He tossed the knapsack to Tim. “Take care of that for me. I’m gonna want it back later. ”
“I can’t just leave you.”
“God, you’re stubborn!” He lowered the gun and took Tim’s arm. “Listen, friends have a way of finding one another again. Just trust me.”
Tim opened his mouth to respond, but made no sound.
“Grab your gear and get out of here. I’ll catch up. Make sure you take your radio.”
Lane started to turn away, readying himself for the coming storm, but hesitated. “Tim?”
“Yeah?”
“Find your fire tower. And when you get there, make sure to save some room for an old friend.”
And then Lane was gone, swallowed by the darkness and rain.
Lane, alone again, crouched behind what remained of a stone wall a hundred-some yards from the White House’s porch.
He prayed that the kid had listened to him and would soon be on his way to the Metro.
He prayed that the rain was enough to conceal Tim’s presence, just long enough to give him some time to slip away.
Oughtta save a few prayers for myself, he thought. I’ll need them.
He knew it was the Nightwalker approaching. Even from a distance, he could see that the glow of its eyes was asymmetrical. As if one side had been blinded.
“Come and get it,” he whispered to the rain. The Scorpion was only a few blocks away now. Before long, he’d be able to see it. And vice versa. Then he could set his trap.
“KRRRRRAAAAARRRRRK!!!”
The iridescent blue light suddenly exploded above the skyline.
Flickering wisps of its navy-black body appeared and disappeared into the stormy turmoil above.
The whirlpool glow dispersed, glinting like a shower of coins between the clouds as the unseen beast hurtled through the storm, a hell-metal reindeer guiding the Reaper’s midnight sleigh.
Lane watched as the ocean-dark rage pounded from one rooftop to the next, illuminating the gray heavens above in a thrumming alien ire, until finally it launched itself from the tempest with such meteoric fury that the earth itself trembled upon impact.
At the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue and Fifteenth Street, in a crater of its own making, stood a Scorpion stripped of all beauty and pride and peace.
The right side of its head was draped in a jewellike scab, as if the blood that had spewed from its eyes then clotted, coagulated, and crystallized.
A similar growth covered the clipped end of its shortened tail, which possessed no stinger.
The looming tower reared back onto a single powerful leg, stretching over two stories tall, and let out another reverb of grudge and hate.
“K’ORK KURRAA!”
It was the Nightwalker, come to finish what it had started.
Its remaining three eyes scanned the White House lawn as it lumbered forth, drowning Lane and the meager ground between them in that deep ocean blue.
The light seemed to permeate the rainwater, illuminating the stretches of trampled security fencing and fallen watchtowers.
The creature kicked aside the husk of a burned-out helicopter, sending the scrap-metal hunk skidding over wet grass.
Another step. Thirty yards away now. Another.
Twenty. Any closer and Lane would be in range.
Yet he stood his ground, weapon at the ready.
What remained of the beast’s tail hovered between the gun and its eyes.
It was a familiar defensive technique, one that most Scorpions had adopted by the end of humanity’s futile struggle, but guarding three eyes was a much simpler task than the full six.
I’ll have to get close, Lane thought. Inside its legs.
Make it swing with the tail, open itself up. Blam. Blam. Kaboom.
The Scorpion tasted the air for a moment, sampling Lane’s scent.
Raindrops sluiced down its curved leg blades, which reflected the lightning strikes so that the whole of the Nightwalker lit up in a golden explosion each time.
The thunder bellowed, and the living weapon replied, “KKKRRRAAARRRRKKKK!!!” drowning out everything save its own iridescent vibrations. Dominating the sky itself.
It’s time, Lane thought, and he made his move. In one swift motion, he stood and stepped up onto what was left of the stone wall, exposing himself to the killer.