Chapter 14

Claire pushed a rolling cart up and down the rows of cots in the High School Gym, handing out bottled water, snacks and green surplus army blankets. The Gym was illuminated by a mix of emergency lights, camping lanterns and flashlights.

“Claire?”

Claire turned. One of the aid workers, an older woman with a straight shoulder length grey hair and a fading yellow t-shirt was sitting behind a folding table filled with a stack of folders and three ring binders. A city engineer, dressed in dirty overalls was standing next to her with his hands on his hips and a list in his hands, his radio spitting out chatter.

Claire walks over nervously.

“Yes, hi.”

“You’re on the nine-hundred block of Peachtree?” asked the engineer.

“Yep, that’s us.”

“Your block has been cleared. All the structures are sound. No gas leaks. You can go home if you’d like. Power’s still off, no estimate on that.”

“Okay, thank you.”

The engineer nodded and moved into the cots in the middle of the gym, looking at his list.

“Claire, you can go if you’d like. You’ve done a great job today. Of course if you’d like, you can stay here for the night. Plenty of spaces." She gestured, the place was about half full.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll go see if my mom’s home. I’ll check in tomorrow.”

"Sure," she smiled. She turned her attention to older women wringing her hands who had approached the table. Claire handed out the rest of what she had and walked out.

Outside, there was a heavy darkness: no street lights, no porch lights. A siren played in the distance and a fire to the north somewhere flickered, illuminating the low cloud cover. Fifty miles away to the northwest, Seattle burned, creating a sunset glow silhouetting the town. Claire, slouching from exhaustion, unlocked her bike and started down the street, her strobe flicked out at the night. A few houses with solar landscape lights were the only other sources of light.

Claire passed a small bungalow that had smoke coming out of the basement windows. A small crowd stood outside the house. A fire truck had just arrived its red and blue lights providing the only light. A firewoman pushed the crowd back as two others pulled out hoses. Down a couple blocks a Sheriff’s Department flew on the perpendicaular street with its lights and siren on. A few headlights moved slowly down the streets.

On the edge of town black silhouettes fly across the burning sky. Grunts and snarls float through the forest. Sounds of freedom, rage and revenge.

She bounced up the curb into her driveway and slipped off the bike, letting it fall on the lawn next to the driveway. Claire whirled around, hearing rustling from across the street. A deer came bounding out of the neighbors back yard and paused. It foamed at the mouth, looking right at her, then bounded past. Then she noticed a silent stream of smaller creatures, raccons, cats and possums all going in one direction, fast. Claire took this in, went inside and shut the door.

Chapter 15

Bobbie Thorton sat in her kitchen sipping a bowl of soup. Bobbie was in her early seventies, short and thin. The house was dark except for a three candles burning on the kitchen table. A small radio was tuned to a news channel covering the earthquake. The distant sound of sirens and dogs barking waft in through the open windows. A light breeze swayed the blinds.

On the radio a reporter was in Seattle and in the back ground there were sirens and commotion. "The destruction of this earthquake is unimaginable. I’m standing in downtown and some of the buildings here have come down. It looks like most of the newer buildings have survived. The ones left standing have windows knocked out and cracks in their concrete pillars. Debris, glass and downed wires and poles are everywhere. Downtown streets are impassable. People are wandering around, dazed, some bleeding, others covered with dust and dirt. We are getting reports of houses and apartment buildings that have collapsed across the city. There was a tsunami in Pugest and we can’t get even to the coast. Multiple fires are raging. Just looking around I count five or six smoke plumes. Its an awful sight here. As you can imagine, there have been fatalities. The numbers are in the dozens right now, and unfortunately that total is sure to rise significantly as rescue operations have barely begun here in Seattle. Strong after-shocks have been hitting us regularly. And… oh my god. Do you feel that? We’re getting a strong after shock right now."

Bobbie slurped a spoonful of soup, her brow furroued listening to the reporter. The house rattled. She looked up, frozen. The shaking subsided after a few seconds. Somewhere in the house glass broke, followed by a thump. Bobbie listened. More thumping and scraping noises.

"Got damn looters," she whispered and switched the radio off.

Bobbie pushed her chair back, rose from the table and picked up the flashlight. She walked over to the phone hanging on the wall, picked it up and put it to her ear. Pressing the hangup button a few times did nothing. She replaced the phone and stared at the basement door. Slowly, she walked towards it, grabbed the handle and paused, listening. Soft grunting noises and the sound of plastic ripping. Bobbie pulled her hand back in fear. She slid silently away from the door and headed for the staircase. As she climbed the stairs she passed numerous pictures of her younger self and her husband. They posed in khakis, holding shotguns. On one photo there was a caption: 1st Place, Hooper Gun Club Skeet Shoot, 1996. She opened her closet door and pushed aside hanging clothes. In the back of the closet was a small gunsafe. She opened it by feel and pulled out an over-under shotgun and box of shells. She loaded the weapon and put a handfull of shells in her pocket. Bobbie went back down the stairs and approached the basement door. She flicked off the flashlight and grimaced as she carefully turned the handle. The door slid open silently. She put her foot on the top step, then another, slowly descending. Rustling and grunting noises grow. She crouched and pulled the shotgun tight into her right shoulder. With her shaking left, she fumbled with the flashlight, flicking it on. The beam lit an open deep freeze. As the beam moved laterally, pieces of meat lay strewn about. A pair of hairy arms with a half-eaten pound of thawing hamburger. The light moves up and the quatchi’s eyes glow. It was looking at Bobbie, pink beef in its perfect sharp teeth, face like an ape or organataun, but jaws bigger, its eyes flowing yellow slits, narrowing in the strong light. Bobbie froze, wide eyed.

Then her grip on the shotgun tightened and her eyes narrowed.

"Shitfucker," she whispered as she brought the shotgun to bare.

The quatchi darted away just as Bobbie fired. The buckshot impacted the waterheater where the quatchi’s head had been. Water sprayed out in tiny streams. Bobbie crouched for two seconds, indecisive. She rose and put a foot out to continue down the steps. She stopped and then quickly she turned to retreat. The quatchi punches out the vertical board on the step and she falls. She pulls up her leg just as the quatchi’s arm shot through, grasping with its long slender fingers and claws. She regained her footing and straddling the steps above and below fired into the gap. The quatchi howled a deep roar. She ran up the steps. The quatchi pursued. She reached the top of the steps and turned to slam the door. She yelled in fright and slammed the door with all her weight against it. The quatchi hit the door at the same moment and Bobbie was thrown backwards onto the floor and against the wall. The quatchi burst through the splintered door. It snarled, its furr matted and bleeding from a shoulder wound, buckshot finding its mark. Bobbie cried out, and rolled to her right, picking the shotgun next to her. As she cracked open the breech the smoking spent shells popped out, hit the wall and rolled on the tile floor. Shells from her pocket spilled out and rolled on the linnouem as she she slid one into the top barrel. She snapped the breech shut but the quatchi snatched it away before she could pull the trigger, her weight falling again against the wall. The quatchi evaluatated the weapon for a moment, turning it around. It looked down the smoking barrel. Bobbie sucked in a breath, eyes wide. The quatchi snarled and swung it at Bobbie, hitting her across the jaw, knocking her senseless, blood spraying on the tablecloth draped off the kitchen table. The force of the strike broke the barrels from the stock. The loaded shell flopped out onto the kitchen table, resting against her soup bowl. The quatchi threw the remnants aside and began to feed as Bobbie moaned.

Chapter 16

Claire walked through the dark house and up to her room. She lit two candles on her dresser. A breeze entered through the open windows on two sides of the room. The dull orange glow from the fires still flickered, but there were no sirens or yelping dogs. She climbed on the bed on her stomach, opened her laptop and pluged in her headphones. A thump, then creaking. Claire does not react she searches for any wifi signals but nothing is connecting. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her wavy dark brown hair. Another thump then a quatchi crashed through the door. Claire opened her eyes, screamed and rolled off the other side of the bed. Her headphones still on, she scrambled to the closet next to her bed. The headphones unplug from her laptop. The music pumped through the speakers. The quatchi is stunned by this momentarily and faces the laptop. Claire scrambled into the closet and pulls the two folding doors shut. The quatchi buries its nails into the laptop and throws it across the room. The music stutters and stops. The quatchi exchanged a look and grunted. They approach the closet door. Sounds of rummaging are heard within the closet. The lead quatchi punches through a door and pulled it off its sliding hinges. Claire appeared in the closet with a bow and arrow. She drew and leaned backwards as the quatchi pushed forwards. She let the arrow go, it pierced the quatchi through the side of the neck. It howled and spun away grasping the arrow in its neck. Clair lunged through the screen onto the narrow roof. A grasping claw swiped, catching her foot.

“No!”

The quatchi dragged her back up the roof. She flails, kicking at the vice-like arm. Her other foot caught the window frame. This held for a moment then broke, glass shards falling around her. The quatchi pulled her another six inches. She braced her free leg on the window sill, her stuck leg now bleeding from glass cuts. The quatchi was stronger and pulled her slowly towards it. The quachi also braced against the window frame, more shards of glass break and fall. The wood frame cracked and moaned against the competing pressures. Glass breaks, and shards of various sizes slide and roll down the roof. Her leg was in side the window now. She sat up and pushed with herright hand against the frame. She yelled with her left she reached through the window frame and pulled on the arrow in the quatchi’s neck. It howled, sputtering and spraying blood in her face. The arrow’s barbs caught, Yelling, Claire ripped it out, more blood spurting the remaining glass in the frame. The quatchi howled and coverd its neck with the hand that had been bracing against the window. Claire pushed again and the quatchi’s head hit the window. But it did not release. The arrow still in hand Claire stabbed the quatchi’s hand around her foot. The quatchi roared with pain. With the impact her hand slides down the shaft, her blood squeezing out mingles with the quatchi’s. The quatchi released with a snarl. She tumbled out of control down the short roof her fingers failing to purchase the shingles covered in leaves and glass.

“No,” Claire sputtered, gritting her teeth.

She slid off the edge along with debris.

Claire fell into the tall shrubbery, hiting her head on the ground as twigs and glass fell around her.

Wendell heard the glass breaking and ran the last block awkwardly carrying the large shotgun. He reached Clarie’s yard just as she slid off. He looked up and the candlelight backlit the quatchi through the window. Wendell raised the shotgun. The quatchi saw him and spun away just before Wendell fired. After the boom from the shot gun faded, there were sounds of breaking glass and thumping.

Claire was disorientated, feebly trying to extricate herself from the scrubs. She was bleeding and disheveled.

“You okay?” he said still looking up at the roof.

“Am I okay? Got my bell rung.”

“Sorry, but we need to worry about that later. Right now we need to run, okay?”

Muffled thumps and smashing furniture from the house.

“Up! Get up! You’re okay!”

“Who are you telling me I’m okay?”

Wendell pulled Claire to her feet and they stumble away from the house. A quatchi howled. As they stagger down the sidewalk a quatchi runs past between the houses. Wendell turns his head to look.

“Claire you might hear a loud noise. Grab on to me.”

Claire grabs onto him. The two stagger down the street. Sounds of gunshots, screams and car horns in the distance. Smoke rose from a fire a few blocks away.

Chapter 17

Harold drove through town, windows down, his elbow on the door, taking in the sights. Except for a few candlelights and solar landscape lights the streets were dark.

He squinted at at his GPS device, pulled over and shut off the engine. He waited for a few minutes, scanning his mirrors. A few houses down a light blue hatchback pulled out of a garage and sped away. Harold started the car and followed.

"Such a littlelead foot," he said to himself as he kept up with the speeding car.

Outside of town, just before the bridge over Woodcock creek Harold stepped on the gas, caught up with the car and honked. Harold put on gloves. The car pulled over and slowed to a stop. Harold exited the Humvee, put on a smile and to the driver’s sides window.

“Hello, Glen Henderson? Behavioral coding with Gentronix?”

“Uh.”

“Sir, I’m to escort you to Gentronix. I assume that was where you were headed?”

“Yes, I was."

Harold looked over to the laptop case on the passenger seat. Glen sees Harold looking at it.

“I take it the necessary code is in the laptop?”

Glen hesitated, “Yes, it is very important that I get to Gentronix quickly. It’s not safe for anyone here."

“I understand, but orders have changed.”

Harold reached in and opened the car door. Glen recoiled and tried to put the car in gear. Harold leaned in and gave him a quick chop to the trachea. Glens hands immediately went to his neck, his eyes bulging. Harold unlocked his seat belt and, having a weight advantage, easily pulled him out of the car and onto the pavement. He dragged Glen off the road into a little clearing by the edge of the woods, away from the road.

“We know about the reporter.”

Glen was still coughing, but could breathe, “What? What are you talking about?”

"I saw you, heard you, giving top secret information to a reporter. You are a traitor to the United States."

"Nuh, no!" he coughed a couple times and fought to speak, "Now. These baseless accusations can wait. I have to get this code to Gentronix. Your citizens are going to start dying in large numbers very quickly."

“I like that, an appeal to my patriotism, very good. But I am a simple tool, an instrument of the will of three-hundred million Americans that act through our Commander in Chief. I am the knife edge of that will.”

Glen became angry, “You think people want these things used in their names?”

Harold shook his head. “They will. Famine, mass migration, breakdown of rule of law. Sea level rise. They will want it. Those killers you’ve set loose, will seem like rain from heaven. The American public only requires a period of acclimatization to the new reality. People like you don’t want to get blood on your hands, but your high morals will get more people killed in the end. Great men are willing to sacrifice themselves and others for their country. You are not a great man. You are weak. You hide behind your kindergarten morality. The world will get harder. And our tools must be hard and sharp.

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Now, I know you don’t mean that. Now, I assume there’s a password on your laptop. Tell me the password and username.

“No.”

Harold shrugged and pulled out his black automatic forty-five and released the safety.

“You kill me and you’ll never recapture those things. They’ll kill everything.”

Harold tilted his head in nonchalance, “My friend, there’s no realistic path of events in the next sixty seconds where you survive. So, I suggest you give me those codes so I can deal with these things. Presumably its a fitting end for you to save people, wasn’t what this was all about for you? Otherwise, I’m just going to kill you, get naked, put on my night vision goggles and see how many I can bag. Let events unfold as they will."

“Jesus," Glen deflated. "Okay, okay, The user name is," he paused. "’Snatchmaster, all one word and the password is ’snatchmasterultra’. All one word."

Harold laughed, “Thank you Glen, you almost redeemed yourself at the end.”

Harold raised his pistol again. Glen held up his hands.

“Wait, wait! Shouldn’t you write that down or something?”

Harold shoots Glen in the head, “Don’t think I need pencil and paper for those."

Harold picked up the shell casing, rolled Glen over, and inspected the exit wound. He flipped open a large knife and dug around in the dirt until he found the slug. He stood up and put it in his breast pocket. He retrieved the laptop out of the passenger seat, put the car in neutral and pushed it off the road.

Harold heard a scraping sound and turns around to see a jogger on the highway. The jogger looked at him and nodedd. Harold smiled and as he passed, Harold raised the pistol and pointed it at the jogger. He focused, holding the aim for a long beat. He then raised the gun and holstered it. Harold smiled. “Jogging after an earthquake. Dedication. That’s what you got to do to get results,” Harold patted his belly. "Hope you got some wind left when those hairy fucks come at you."

He walked over to the Glen’s body and pulled it deeper into the woods, leaving a trail of blood along the way. Harold sniffed the air and squinted like he smelled an onion. He drew his forty-five. There was rustling in the bushes. He backed off slowly. More rustling. A grunt. He scanned with his eyes and weapon but does not find a target. He lookerd at the body.”

Harold half smiled. “Have at it stinky.”

He walked off looking over his shoulder. As he drove away, a quatchi ran out from the trees and tore into Glen’s body.

Chapter 17

Toni and Scotty sat on a small deck on the third floor of Toni’s house on the other side of Main Street. Toni was in a reclining chair with a glass of wine and pint of ice cream. Scotty bent over a small grill, he flipped over two steaks and a few shrimp.

“Damn, I wish I had a signal so I could invite Claire and Wendell to the feast,” said Toni.

“Yeah, like a bat signal. Where do you think they are?”

“Wendell’s probably covering the earthquake story. Claire’s probably doing something lame like volunteering or something,” Toni rolled her eyes.

Scotty raised a lip, “Eww yeah you’re right. More steak and shrimp for us.”

“That’s right bitch,”

“Oh yeah, wasn’t like, an earthquake your biggest fear? How are you doing?

“Yeah I know! I feel alive. I was so scared. So scared. But now this ice cream, is the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted. This wine is the best wine I’ve ever had. I feel great.” Toni puts a large scoop of ice cream in her mouth and continues to talk, her speech became garbled.

“I faced my fear and won. Oh my god brain freeze!”

“I mean I just can’t imagine having to face your biggest fear.”

“Yeah, it was messed up," said Toni rubbing her forehead.

“Mine’s getting attacked by like a monster or bigfoot or something. I just couldn’t handle it.”

“That would suck, but lucky you, you’ll never have to face that fear, since bigfoot isn’t real.”

Scotty thinks about this. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks Toni!”

“No problem. I’m here to help.”

A siren started up in the distance.

“What’s with all the sirens and stuff tonight. I mean I know the power is out and there’s that fire over there, which seems to be getting bigger by the way. But I mean, calm down people.”

“Yeah just chill," said Toni shrugging her shoulders and scraping the bottom of the pint of ice cream.

Scotty looked down into the street.

“Hey, there’s what’s his name, Claire’s mom’s boytoy.” He turns to the street and yells, “Hey! Hey!”

Toni said to Scotty, “Jared.”

“Jared! What’s up?”

Jared walked down the street with his guitar case. He looked up, puzzled, “Hey.”

“It’s Scotty and Toni. We’re the ones who drove you home last weekend from the party at Steve’s.”

Jared looks down, pauses, then up again, “oh yeah, hey.”

“What’re you doing out with your guitar, playing a gig?”

“Yeah, I had a gig scheduled at the Driftwood.”

“Yeah, probably got canceled with the earthquake and power outage and all the major destruction and everything.”

“Yeah, I thought it might still be on or something so I went down there. But they weren’t open.”

“Weird.”

“Well I guess it makes sense, they don’t want to have any liability for people tripping in the dark.”

Scotty pulls back with a look of confusion at Jared’s statement as whispered to Toni, “I’m really fucking high and I know that’s a weird thing to say,” Toni giggled and jumped up from her seat.

“Hey Jared. Do you want to come up and play for us? We’ll pay you in wine and ice cream.”

"I’m eating the rest of the ice cream," said Scotty.

"Just wine and shrimp then!"

Jared looked down the street, thinking, “Okay," he said and walkd towards the house. A quatchi, tall and lanky, shot out of the nearby shrubs, tackling him. Toni and Scotty look in horror as Jared screamed and the quatchi growled. The guitar tumbled out of the case and clanges a tortured chord as strings broke. The ice cream on Toni’s spoon slid off and plopped on the deck.

Chapter 18

Lauren squinted and leaned forward, straining to see further than the headlights presented. She pulled into the driveway. The house sat dark and motionless. Dogs barked and she heard a short scream blocks away. Her shaking hand jingled her keys as she locked the car and approached the house.

Door had was ajar when she pushed it open. She walked through the house like molasses, her head on a swivel, her breathing shallow. In the living room she picked up a poker from the fireplace. She brandished it, taking a few more steps. She looked at it and, and sobbed a just for a moment. She turned over the poker in her hands and dropped it. "Useless," she whispered. She sees a lamp knocked over and drew in her breath.

"Claire! Claire honey!?"

She ran up the stairs to Claire’s bedroom.

"Claire!"

She rushed into Claire’s room. Inside, she took in the blood on the walls, the punctured mattress and all the books, candles and other items strewn around the destroyed room. Her body shook.

"Oh!"

Lauren walked around the room following the sequence of events. The path lead her to the open window. Bloody finger prints and streaks where open flesh dragged along surfaces. She leaned out the window. A shard of glass drops to the roof and slid over the edge."

"Claire!"

She felt one of the craters from Wendell’s shot on the sill. She investigated, feeling its contours. She stepped back into the room and thought for a moment. She followed the trajectory to the opposite bedroom wall and saw more shot impacts. She feels them to make sure. Now full of purpose, she ran downstairs and out the house. She circled to the schrubs undneath Claire’s window.

She investigated and saw blood and the broken twigs where Claire fell.

"Claire!" she yelled again, standing and looking up and down the street. She checked her phone, no service. The car bottomed out and sparked when she hit the street pulling out.

Sounds of chaos come from all directions as Wendell and Claire made their way down the street. Claire was conscious but her movements were slow and uncoordinated and her eyes drooped like a refugee from St. Patricks Day. Wendell had trouble keeping Claire upright while also keeping the shotgun ready.

"Where’d you get that peashooter?" she mumbled.

"My uncle gave it to me. He wanted us to go hunting together."

"Did you hit it?

"Maybe," he paused, "No, I don’t think so. Their too fast. Wish I could have broken the story before this happened."

"Yeah, thanks for coming to get me instead of writing your story."

Wendell laughed, "Yeah, I was with my source when he got a call. He listened then said some crazy stuff. Said he had to go, that they were loose and that I should get a gun if I could. So I did."

Claire stopped walking and leaned into Wendell.

"No, Claire we have to keep a move on, keeping moving on."

"I know, but on the other hand, I’m so tired. Why am I so tired?

"Because you probably have a concussion."

"Oh yeah. That whole, ’I almost died fighting a monster episode like five minutes ago’. How the time flies." Claire laughed, her eyes closing.

Behind them something scraped against a surface and grunted. Wendell wheeled and pulled up his shotgun. Claire leaned into him again, throwing off his aim.

"Okay, maybe its time to get off the street," He said and aimed for The Driftwood about fifty yards down the street.

Wendell propped Claire against the wall to the left of the door, opened it and stepped inside. Standing in the doorway he was greeted with silence and darkness. He peered into the dark, looking and listening. Towards the back of the building the floor creaked. He looked back to the street.

Another twenty yards ahead there was a small construction area. A large Bobcat was parked for the night in front of an eight by ten foot hole surrounded by tape and cones. Immediately to the right of the construction area was a brick building which contained the five twelve bar.

"Always hold the high ground with a good field of fire," he whispered to himself. He stepped away from The Driftwood. The door swung shut with a thud. He turned to Claire, "let’s climb up on that digger thing down there, okay?"

"What are we doing? Jungle gym time? Are we taking this for a joyride?"

They stumbled over to it.

"Come on, climb up. Up!"

Wendell gently prodded Claire into climbing up on the Bobcat. She flopped down on top of the cage.

"Did you just touch my butt?"

"I touched your butt to get it moving in the opposite direction, just transmitting momentum."

"Well, Wendell," she trailed off and emitted a happy groan as she closes her eyes.

Wendell looked at her. He leaned in and shook her shoulder.

"No no no. Claire. Don’t go to sleep. You’ll get the brain damage. You won’t be funny anymore."

"You’re right," he head snapping up, eyes still closed, "Can’t let that happen."

Claire made a pouty face, got up and enters the cage. She starts playing with the controls.

"Look I’m Ripley from Aliens! In the Mechbot!"

Wendell scanned around.

"Help me keep an eye out for those things."

"Wendell,"

"Yes, Claire,"

"I’m in the Mechbot from Aliens."

"Yes, Ripley,"

"I’ll keep exactly on eye on the twenty-degree field of vision right in front of me. I’ll watch that."

"Wendell looking around.

"Okay, but don’t go to sleep."

Claire’s head was down on the control panel, "yep."

Lauren drove slow through Bleeding Ridge. The windows were open and she called out to Claire. She passed the house on fire that Claire passed earlier. No firefighters or bystanders anywhere. The red lights on the firetruck spun, the motor idled. The only other sound was the crackle and hiss from the burning building and the a fire hose spewing water on the lawn. It flooded the grass and the stream flowed into a storm drain. A trail of blood coming from the fire truck mingled with the water as it drained. A man in his forties in jeans, crocs and no shirt ran down the street with a jug of water and a can of beans. He did not take any notice of the fire. Lauren looked at this sight with her mouth slightly open in confusion. She refocused and drove on.

She turned the corner onto Main Street. Lauren saw Claire and Wendell on top of the Bobcat in the distance.

"Oh thank God,"

As the head-lights approach, Claire looks up tiredly. Wendell begins to wave down the car.

As she approached a pair of green eyes flicked open reflecting the headlights, between the Bobcat and the five twenty bar to the right.

"Oh God no."

Lauren honked the horn frantically.

"Look out!"

Lauren slammed the accelerator and the car surged forward. She popped up on the sidewalk between the Bobcat and the bar and slammed into the far corner of the brick building. The airbag popped. She struggled with the airbag as it deflated.

Wendell yelled. Lauren looked over as Wendell, illuminated red by the tail-lights, raised the shotgun and fired. A dark shape retreated as the shot impacted the brick. The airbag almost deflated, she put the car in reverse and backed out. Bricks tumbled from the damaged building and onto the hood. She pulled behind the Bobcat, knocking over cones surrounding the hole. One of the wheels hit the corner and slipped in, jostling the car. Metal slid against the pavement. The car had enough momentum and the wheel popped up and cleared the construction hole. She turned the wheel, ready to pull out into the street.

"Get in!" Lauren yelled.

Claire and Wendell climb down from the Bobcat and jump in the car, Wendell in back, Claire in front.

"Oh Claire, baby," Lauren reaches out and grabs her shoulder

"Thanks for picking us up!"

Lauren looked at her, then to Wendell.

"Concussion," he said.

"Don’t dismiss me. If you scare the fuck out of me do I not scream? If you maul me, do I not die?"

Lauren put the car in drive. A quatchi stepped from the side of the bar, wielding a no parking sign with the concrete base attached. It growled and smalled the engine in the front right corner. The engine died, liquid coolant dripped out and the block steamed. Lauren frantically turned the key, the starter turning but the engine did not catch.

"Come on, Come on."

"No, no no no no!"

"Oh, fuck!"

Much of the contcrete chunk and browken away. The quatchi flipped the sign around and swung it like a blade, cutting through the windshield and crimping the corner brace of the car’s top. The sign stopped inches from Claire, huddled in the corner of her seat staring at the metal scythe. The sign was stuck between the bent corner brace and the roof. The quatchi struggled but the sign was wedged in the brace. The quatchi gave up on the sign and dropped it with a hollow clang. It moved in, its nails scraping the paint off the hood. Wendell frantically pulled out a handful of shells from the baggy pocket on his kahki shorts. The shotgun smoked as he put in a shell and . The quatchi heard the chambering clack and froze, indecisive. Wendell took aim. Claire covered her ears. The quatchi turned to escape. Wendell fired and caught it in the side as it ducked behind the Bobcat. The engine caught, but sounded uneven and ragged. Lauren’s face lit up. She hit the gas, the tires chirped, as they reversed. She put the car in drive and hit the gas again. The sign’s base dragged for a bit before disengaging. It clanked and scraped as it rolled and flipped along the pavement. The car smoked as they sped away.

Wendell screamed out the window, looking back to the bobcat.

"That’s right I got you, you lab freeaaakkk!"

They drove through the chaos of the town. They escape, listening to the tattered engine struggle as they entered the winding roads to the army camp.

Claire looked at Lauren, "You did all this."

"No, baby," she shook her head, starting to cry.

"Didn’t she, Wendell."

Wendell, looked around, grasping for a response.

Lauren gave in. "Yes. I was in charge of this project. They escaped. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was an accident."

"Well, of course its an accident. That’s not, that’s not…" Claire grew more angry, "You should not have done this in the first place! Wendell has diagnosed me with a concussion. Fine, but I am deeply disappointed with you. And I will never forgive you for this even after I recover from my traumatic brain injury! I will never respect you, no matter what you say or do and even if I say I forgive you I will not have forgiven you for all this death!"

"Claire, please… I, I understand. I’m just glad you’re okay,"

Lauren quietly sobbed as they drove.

Chapter 19

At the army base camp the three got out without talking. Claire, unhappy and in pain, tested her leg ginergly as she exited the car. She limped into camp, pusing away Lauren’s attempt to help her. Wendell, wary and alert. Lauren straightens up, her face emotionless. The three walk towards the command tent.

Inside are Jeremy, Vernon, Tom and Harold.

"Lauren and Claire! By the looks of you, you have a story to tell. It’ll have to wait. We’re talking about ativating recall program. We’ll need your codes."

Lauren nodded blankly.

Jeremy stared at Lauren, waiting for her to say more. After a couple seconds he turned to the group, "Okay people. Here’s what we need to do. Basically we’ll be sending a radio signal that all the quatchies in the area will respond to. The signal is embedded with G.I.S. data. It will trigger their recall program, which is embedded in a nanochip in their brains. They will experience great discomfort until they get to the rendevous point."

"Great so, they’ll be pissed," said Harold.

"Then what?" asked Wendell.

"And then we..." he pauses to look around at all the serious faces, "I guess we kill them all somehow and leave me without a Nobel prize."

Claire said slowly, "Don’t worry Jeremy, I’ve always thought you were prize-less."

Wendell and Vernon to Claire, "Nice."

Jeremy opened his mouth but is speechless.

Tom scratched his chin, "Why not draw them back to Gentronix loading dock. Set up a shooting gallery. We’re safe. They’re easy to kill."

"Sure," said Jeremy , giving the squinty eye to Claire. Claire curled her lip and made a claw. Jeremy feined shock.

"So. Someone needs to go refill the generator. Start it, and hook up a laptop to the transmitter. And we need to find Glen. Why itsn’t he here?"

Harold furrowed his brow and pulled out Glen’s laptop from dufflebag.

"Glen didn’t make it. I was about to escort him here, when I found him. I was too late. But before he passed, he gave me access to his laptop. Here you go," Harold passed the laptop to Jeremy.

Jeremy held it carefully like it was Glen’s urn. He choked up for a second then recovered. "Okay. Well since Vernon and I are the only ones here who can do this. I guess we’ll go."

Vernon nodded.

"The rest of you. Set up your little ambush. Need I remind you that these things are smart. Yes, hopefully they’ll sort of be single-minded about getting back here once we start up the recall signal, but they’ll always be smart. Don’t underestimate them. And remember we haven’t tested any of this yet."

"Yeah, yeah." Said Tom waiving the response away, "Okay, you two go on ahead," said Tom. "We’ll pack up and be along in a few minutes. Call me when you’re transmitting," He threw Jeremy a two-way radio.

Vernon and Jeremy nod.

Tom looks around the room, "Okay?"

Everyone nodded

"Let’s do it."

Vernon and Jeremy walked out of the tent. A second later, Jeremy popped back in.

"Hey, can we drive one of the Humvees?"

Tom thinks about it for a second, "No."

Jeremy is sad and then his face brightens.

"Can I at least get a gun?"

Thinks about this and nods, "Okay."

Tom walks over and hands him his side arm.

"Know how to use this?"

"Pretty much. This end is the bad end right?" he pointed at the tip of the barrel. "Just kidding, yes I know how to use it. Okay cool. See you later." He hurried out.

"What’s wrong with her?" said Tom, gesturing towards Claire who was asleep on her feet, weaving side to side and giggling.

"Concussion,"

"Oh,"

"Yes I have a concussion, okay!? Yes, look at the girl with the concussion. Get a good long look. Cause someday, you’ll all have a concussion, then you’ll be sorry. Yeah."

"I’m sorry now Claire," to Lauren, "We’ll monitor her and if she gets worse.. then we’ll do something at that point," said Tom.

Lauren nodded, looking at Claire.

"Let’s grab weapons and move out," said Tom.

Jeremy and Vernon pulled away in Vernon’s car towards Gentronix.

"Did you see that? Captain gave me his gun!"

Jeremy pointed it out the front and pretended to shoot.

"Yes, I see that. That’s a cool gun."

Jeremy examined it.

Do you really think its a cool gun?

"It’s very cool. Since its the captain’s gun, its probably the very best type of gun."

"Fuck you Vernon." Jeremy examined it some more, "Yeah, it is pretty cool."

He puts it in his pants, then pretended to quick draw, he fumbled it as he draws and the gun bounced around the car. Vernon flinched and pulled hard on the wheel sending the car across the white line. The pistol landed at Jeremy’s feet, pointed right at him. Jeremy breathed out a sigh of relief and gulped. Vernon eyed him nervously.

Chapter 20

Jeremy, using his phone as a flashlight, moved quietly down the hallway, the light shaking. Vernon followed, non-chalantly and unafraid, "You start the generator. I’ll get the transmitter up and running."

"Sounds reasonable," Vernon continued down the hallway. Jeremy entered the control room. He walked over to a table with a transmitter. It looked similar to a ham radio, he pulled it out and leans over it, fiddling with the plugs and wires spitting out the back. He took out Glen’s laptop, and sighed caressing it. He brought it over to the table, opened it and launched an application.

Vernon went down three flights of stairs to the subasement. The emergency lights were still on, their batteries fading. He flicked on a small pen flashlight. He passed through the grow lab with its rows of steel tanks. Past that he scurried by the large holding pens, their doors open, covered in claw marks. Everything was silent. Only his sliding awkward steps disturbed the silence.

Past the pens he opened the heavy metal door. He entered the room and stood listening. The space large was with the tall ceilings like the rest of the subbasement. As his flashlight traced around the room, shadows and outlines of large pipes above and mechanical equipment emerged. He shuffled over to the generator. His light traced from the generator to a fifty-five gallon drum next to it. He walked over to the fuel barrel, took out the hose and rolled the barrel aside. Vernon found full fuel barrels a few feet away. Straining, he slowly walked the full drum closer to the generator. He unscrewed the cap on the drum and placed the hose in it. He primed pump and pressed a couple buttons on the generator. The ambient light changed briefly in the space. Vernon turned towards the door and peered into the darkness. He turned quickly and pressed the start button. With a cough and sputter it started up. The lights in the hallway turned on but the mechanical room remained dark.

"Shoot," said Vernon quietly.

Vernon slid over to a workbench and picked up a large plumbing wrench. He slinked over to a huge boiler beyond the generator. He hesitated for a moment, then slammed the wrench against an emergency release valve. It shot away, clanging off something metal on the other end of the room. Scalding steam hissed out of the valve. Vernon yelped and twisted away, covering his face. He slid into a corner and hunkered down watching, brandishing the wrench. Steam filled the room, beads of sweat collected on Vernon’s brow. He waited. A trailing swirl of steam where something swept through it. Clutching the wrench, he slid his hand around and found a bolt. He threw it across the room. It clanged and scraped as it bounced on the other side. A soft grunt emitted from from the grey black haze. Vernon broke for the door. It was getting closer, closer. He reached for the handle and swung the door.

Jeremy paced back and forth, his arms crossed. He flicked the light switch off and on, no fire in the wires. He walked back into the hallway. There was no sound, no movement. He swore to himself and walked down the hallway, pistol out. The hum of the generator returned and the lights flicked on.

"Yuss!"

He ran back into the room, put down the gun absentmindedly on the table near the door. He turned on the transmitter and returned to the laptop and typed, his screen blinked, and a cartoon version of a quatchi appears with a word bubble that says, ’I’m coming home, baby,’ He smiled, admiring his handy work. Jeremy took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey. We are transmitting the recall signal now. They’re coming right here. I’m going to get Vernon and we’ll join you."

He walked into the hallway and looked down the silent corridor.

"Crippty crap. Please don’t let me get any just desserts or poetic justice."

Jeremy paced and bit his nails. He took a step down the hall, stopped and turned back into the control room. Jeremy looked around the room eventually, finding the pistol. He picked it up and walked down the hall, pistol out gat style.

Jeremy hurried through now well lit rooms. He whispered Vernon’s name in the computer room and in the lab. Steam pushed out of the dark generator room. He turned on his phone’s flash and moved into the steam. In the distance, muffled, scraping, mushy sounds filtered through the hiss of the steam. Then trickling sounds. He moved through the room, sweating in the heat and humidity. A trail of blood entered a drain, mingling with the condensing steam and slipped through a drain. His light sweept upward following the blood. In the space between a workbench a water tank a quatchi was devouring Vernon. Blood was everywhere. Vernon waved at Jeremy like he was in a parade.

A sound of breathing behind him rose above the sound of the steam. He turned and there was a quatchi, bearing its teeth. The quatchi ripped open Jeremy’s stomach and pulled out his intestines. The quatchi threw the intestines around an iron pipe above, wrapped the loop around Jeremy’s neck and strung him up by his own entrails. Jeremy, struggles for a moment then realizes he was still holding his phone. He swipes a couple times and takes a selfie. The quatchi swipes the phone away from Jeremy and examines it. Curious, it examined it as the photo is uploaded to social media. It bites into it and the phone sparks and the screen goes blank.

"Definitely top ten," croaked Jeremy before passing out.

Chapter 21

A geek sat at his computer in Chicago, an El train rumbled in the distance. He chewed on a slice of pizza and posed a femail hentai action figure. His computer pinged and the geek leaned in. Jeremy’s death-selfie posted on the geek’s HD display. The geek put down the busty action figure and studied the death-selfie, the quachi reaching for the camera Jeremy bleeding from the mouth.

The geek typed, "Looks shopped. Fake as fuck," and posted the comment, the first. He took another bite of pizza and a slug of yellow green soda. He leaned back, satiated.

Chapter 22

Harold, Tom, Wendell, Lauren and Claire jostle as they rocketed towards Gentronix.

Tom was on the phone, "Afirmative. See you there, out," to the group, "They’re transmitting. We need to be ready."

The Hummvee pulled into Gentronix’s loading dock. Harold, Wendell and Lauren exit. Tom turned to Claire and leans in just as Claire starts to scoot over to exit.

"Claire,"

Claire stopped and looked at Tom with tired eyes.

"Your mother and I..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Whatever, "a little dismissively. Claire exited. Tom pulls back and opens his mouth to speak but Claire is out the door.

The group hurried into the office. Harold carried a SAW. Lauren Claire and Tom carried M4 carbines. Wendell had his shotgun.

Wendell gestured at Claire’s M4, "Have you ever shot a gun before?"

"Fuck yeah."

"No you haven’t, you’ve said so before."

"I don’t say things. And no I haven’t shot a real gun, just accurate video simulations," she said.

"Angry Birds doesn’t count."

"It does too and Duck Hunter."

"Good, this is super that we’ve given you a gun in your condition."

"In my condition of Mega Marksman Woman. I’ve fired rifles. Twenty-twos. Let me show you what to do."

"Okay, people here’s the plan."

But his speech fades out as Wendell and Lauren push the papers, computers and pencil holders off a desks and push them towards the windows of the office. Claire throws a chair out the window, breaking the glass. She sloppily clears the remaining shards with her carbine. Lauren and Wendell do the same the other desk. Harold stands there smiling.

"Okay, good. Now let’s do a weapon’s check and talk about the safety..."

A wretched howl echoes through the loading dock. A quatchi sprints towards them from the huge loading door. They level their weapons and fire. The quachi was hit multiple times. Blood and bits of fur fly from the quatchi. It drops dead skidding to a stop a few feet from the control room. Tom looks around at the group, not having fired a shot.

"Okay. Good. Carry on,"

The group continued preparing a defensive position in the office. Harold loads magazines from an ammo box and laid out magazines on the tables. Tom pushed a stack of blue forty gallon drums out of the way that were blocking their field of fire. Each intermittenly glanced at the two open loading dock doors and at each other. They finished their tasks and took up positions along the two metal desks pushed against the broken windows.

They waited.

"How many are we dealing with?"

"Thirty-four were in the pens," said Lauren.

Wendell shifted positions and stretched his back. Harold checked his SAW and slid an ammo crate closer.

Claire’s eyes drooped again.

"Oh shit. Shit," barked Lauren, "Nobody hit any of those tanks over there," Lauren pointed at a half dozen tall slender tanks, shaped like oversized oxygen tanks, "They’re coolant for our supercomputers. Highly explosive, according to the signs on the sides of the tanks."

Claire turned to Wendell and whispered, "I’m totally going to fucking shoot those tanks."

"No. Please don’t," whispered Wendell. "Promise, me. Swear to me you won’t shoot those tanks. You do realize you have a concussion?"

Claire rolled her eyes, "I acknowledge the concussion. Why is everyone so focused on that?"

"Okay, good then. So please, don’t."

"I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll only shoot the tanks as a last resort, if we’re all about to die anyway."

Wendell thinks about this and responds, slowly, "Alright, but run it by me first? Deal?"

"Deal."

"Shake on it," said Wendell. They shook hands.

Claire fondled her carbine, her fingers crossed.

"Where are they?" she said openly. "I would love to have a gentically modified sasquatch head in my dorm room for senior year. Maybe that sority will finnally want me."

A thunderous unison roar; quatchies poured in from every direction. The group fired. Spent cassing bounced on the concrete floor. Two quatchies had his in the stacks of boxes and pallets, the two dropped down and sprinted for the control room. Tom turned and fired. His first round missed but the next two hit the leaad in the chest and it flopped forward. He fired at the other hitting it in the shoulder. Tom yelled and ten feet away fired again and hit it in the jaw. It fell over but got up again. Tom took aim putting a round through its left eye.

A quachi jumped up onto a ten foot pile of pallets, immediately leaping onto the next row. Harold saw it and fires his SAW but was behind. The quatchi jumped onto the roof of the office. Harold spun around firing through the roof. A thump and dripping blood signaled Harold to find another target. A group of four sprinted directly towards them. Lauren and Claire fire wildly into the group. One is left, stomach and leg bleeding. Lauren and Claire’s weapons click. Wendell fires, the two thirds of its head vaporates in a pink cloud. Its grasping arm on the wall of the office.

Claire and Lauren frantically reload. Another wave of quatchi as many as before attack. Claire takes aim at the explosive tanks. She fondles the trigger.

"I’m going to blow up those tanks. Kill these bitches, fucking up my summer vacation. I was supposed to get work experience."

"Don’t do that!"

"Don’t tell me what to do."

"Don’t tell me, not to tell you what to do. AND we’ll all die."

Claire rolled her eyes and fired and the round hits a tank. A distinct Ping! sound spat from the tank. They exploded. Huge pieces of tank, pallets, barrels and expanding gas fly outwards. The pieces shred the attacking quatchi. One hit with a rocketing tank in the torso body and flew across the room into the wall. Another quatchi was perforated by multiple pieces of shrapnel. Another was hit in the legs by a flying pallet and spun a number of times before landing. The group tumbled backwards from the shockwave as shrapnel fly past them and strike the opposite wall. Crumbling concrete metal screeching sounds and plinks of chunks of metal rolling and spinning over the concrete floor. Howls dying quachi mix with the destruction of the explosion. The fluorescent light fixtures directly above the explosion come down. The group is covered in dust and debris. One by one they begin to move rolling over onto their knees. Quatchi are still moving.

"Get up soldiers!" yelled Tom firing rounds into the injured quatchi.

One by one they all stand up and fire, finishing off the remaining creatures.

After a minute or so the shooting stoped.

"I think truck stop waitress was looking like a good option right now," said Lauren, smiling weakly at Claire

"And I can finish at community college," they embrace. Claire’s eyes remained open.

Chapter 23

Dawn broke as Claire, Wendell and Tom drive back to Bleeding Ridge in the Humvee. A morning fog obscured and deadened the world around them in a grey haze. Around a curve a fat fir tree lay across the road.

Tom slowed the Humvee to a stop. He and Lauren look at each other in growing horror. Tom reached moved the shifter to reverse.

The quachi lept from a tree beside the road. The passengers yell. Tom gunned the engine. The quatchi landed on the road and with one bound waas on top of the Humvee as the wheels spun. The quatchi broke the driver’s side window and slashed Tom across the face and chest. It grabbed the steering wheel, pulling it hard to the left. The Hummee leaned as it turned sharply. The Humvee went off the road hit a rock and flipped over. The quatchi is thrown off. The Humvee rolled down a steep ravine about forty feet. The passengers are tossed around as it rolls. Shells, rifles and equipment fly out of the Humvee as it tumbles. It came to rest on its side, steam pouring from the engine.

Claire opened her eyes. The world was quiet. She was pinned against the window. She grimaced and yelled trying to shift her weight. She sat still for a moment. Wendell was on top of her, unconscious.

She moved again, grimacing. She felt Wendell’s chest and he was breathing.

"Mom?" she croaked. No answer. Twisting and pushing, her back scraping against he metal of the roof, Claire squeezed out of the back windshield Humvee. She was dirty, bloody and limping.

Claire knelt down, feeling her knee. It was red and starting to swell.

The quatchi, flung from the vehicle, got up slowly, grunting and shaking its head. Claire froze as at the quachi regained its footing. Claire stumbled back to the Humvee. The quatchi saw her and weaved, disorientated towards the Humvee.

Claire stuck her head in. Tom was dead, blood seeping out the deep wounds in his chest and neck.

"Mom! Wendell!"

She cried desperately, alternately shaking them and digging around the Humbvee for a weapon. Lauren is unconscious but breathing.

Claire grabbed a carbine from the Humvee, backing off she brought it to bear on the quatchi. She pulls the trigger and it only clicked. The quatchi closed the distance. She screamed and threw the carbine at the quatchi. She looks towards the Humvee but the quatchi was too close, she turned and hobbled towards the forest. She looked over her shoulder. The quatchi was reaching into the Humvee.

"No. No! Over here!" She waved her arms frantically.

The quatchi smiled a toothy smile and focused on her. Claire turned to run. But could manage a limp. She cried with each step. Getting the hang of the motion she moved a little faster through the forest, pushing away ferns and branches as she moved through the trees. The mist enveloped her. Howling echoed from all directions. She approached Woodcock creek, she could see the gap ahead where the creek cut a steep ravine. The quatchi roared, closer this time. She looked down into the ravine, preparing to jump. She whirled around and the quachi was before her, savoring the approach, grunting with each hot breath. It too was bloodied, one eye swollen shut, its primate like face mangled with canine. She turned again to the ravine and closed her eyes. A different roar echoed through the forest. Both Claire and the quatchi whip around. Another roar, closer this time.

A new beast sasquatch appeared. It was different from the others, yet bore a family resemblance. It stood on a downed tree, majestic, tall and slim, almost elf-like. The creature had smooth dark brown fur, contrasting with the mottled mess of the quachi. The elegant creature yelled a challenge to the quatchi. The two ran at each other, snarling. They impact and begin to grapple, slashing and grabbing. They pulled in tight, their faces almost touching, trying to overpower each other, like sumo wrestlers.

Claire looked on in amazement, her mouth open. She snapped out of it and looked around. A downed branch lay near the downed tree, about four inches at its thickest, the wood beginning to bleach white. Straining, she groaned lifting the branch and propped it up on the trunk. She scrambled up on the downed tree trunk, scraping her arms and belly aginst the flaking bark. She jumped from the tree trunk onto the branch cracking it in two, yelping in pain as she landed. The break left a good point, the branch now about five feet long. She broke off some of the twigs and dragged it to the fight. Grunts and roars echo through the forest. The natural sasquatch pushed the quatchi towards the ravine. Claire braced the stake up against another log and held it up. The sasquatch drove the quachi towards the stake. Claire crouched and closed her eyes screaming, bracing herself for the impact. The quatchi was driven into the stake, puncturing the upper abdomen. The quatchi howled in pain. The three end up in a pile in the green ferns and soft mossly soil. Claire was pinned between the log that had braced the stake the quatchi. She struggled to extricate herself. The mottled and dirty fur of the quatchi was in her face, the weight restricting her breathing. Blood seeped onto her face and neck. The sasquatch got up and slid the stake, rolling the quatchi off Claire. She rolled opposite just as the quatchi swiped at her, snarling in rage, its good eye wide and bloodshot.

The wounded quatchi quivered with rage. It growled a low guttural rattle that turned into a deafening yell. It gripped the stake with its slender strong hands and started sliding it out. Blood and saliva dripped from its mouth and nose as it slid the stake through itself, entrails being pulled out along with it. The sasquatch maneuverd behind the quatchi, hampered by the bulk of the stake. The sasquatch grabbed the stake from behind, at its entry point. Straining, it flipped the quatchi over the edge into the ravine. Snarling, the quatchi fell. The poll glanced off a rock, forcing the spear further through the quatchi. It fell onto on the rocks beside Woodcock creek. Claire hobbled over to the ledge and looked down. It was dead, pieces of the shattered bran’ch sticking out of it. Its blood flowed though the rocks and into the creek.

The Sasquatch, battered, bleeding and chest heaving, spread its arms and howled into forest, which returned a dull echo. Claire turned and walked towards the road, the natural sasquatch followed at a distance. Humvees from Tom’s platoon had just arrived. Wendell and Lauren, injured but alive, and were helped out of the wreck. Two soldiers put a turniquet on Harold’s thigh, his lower leg mashed and bleeding. Claire put her hands to her face, tears welled up. Claire turned to the sasquatch. They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

"Movement!" A soldier barked. The soldiers crouched, pulling up their rifles.

"It’s okay. He’s with me." Claire yelled putting up her hands.

The soldiers expresions turned turned to confusion, their heads lifting from their sights. Claire turned to see only the silent green-dark of the forest.

Next Chapter: New Chapter