Up From The Deep by Vaughn Jackson (highly recommended books txt) 📕

soon as possible for the “training exercise” as he exited the room. Kurtis scowled as he walked down the hallway. “I wonder how they’ll handle this,” he said to himself.

#

“The amount of strength required to hold this thing would be—”

“Astronomical,” Skylar finished, “yes.”

“Do we even have any metals that withstand that force? I mean, we saw her tail lash the other monster across an island,” Devonte said.

“If we can use carbon steel bracers to lock Inkanyamba in place, and set up massive heat lamps around her, it should dehydrate her enough to kill her, or at least render her inert…like a frog.” She paused. “It seems kind of cruel, doesn’t it?”

Devonte nodded solemnly. “If this doesn’t work, I have a feeling that our friends in the government will just start dropping nukes on her until she’s dead or we all are…or worse.”

Skylar looked downcast. She’d seen all the same monster movies as him, and in those, the fallout of the bombs always led to worse. Much worse. “This has to work.”

“It’s a lot of carbon steel though…”

“Leave that to us,” Greenwood said, entering the room. “We can requisition anything you need. I take it you have a plan?”

“We’ll need a team of welders,” Devonte said.

“Be sure to pay them,” Skylar added. “Well.”

“Excuse me?” The general frowned.

“People work better when paid, regardless of the circumstances,” Skylar said.

“And we’ll need their best work,” Devonte concluded.

Greenwood rubbed her forehead. “Yes, of course.”

At that moment an alarm went off, making Devonte jump and tense every muscle in his body. He winced at the pain that seared through his shoulder. “What the hell is that?”

“That’s a bad sound isn’t it?” Skylar asked.

But Greenwood was already gone.

“I love her explanations,” Devonte said, sprinting after her.

Skylar followed close behind.

The command room was abuzz with flashing lights, rushing people, and a general sense of apocalypse. Skylar had been right; whatever the alarm meant, it wasn’t good.

“What is going on, General?” Devonte shouted above the ear-splitting klaxon.

“It’s heading inland,” MacPherson said, a touch of horror in her voice. “Into the city.”

“What?” Skylar said, shoving an intern away from the nearest monitor. “That makes no sense. It should want to stay near the water.” She turned to look at Devonte with fear in her eyes. “Unless…”

“The device,” Devonte said.

“You destroyed it,” the general said.

“Not completely,” Devonte said. “The components were all still there, just broken.”

“They easily could have reverse engineered it,” Skylar said. “Um…search for any ambient infrasound. That will tell us.”

The intern from before typed at his monitor under Skylar’s intense scrutiny. “There is a repeating pulse of sound at about 10Hz,” he said, “it’s loud, but out of our hearing range.”

“Thank you…?”

“Ensign Matthew Bishop,” he said.

“Thank you, Matthew. Now, can you pinpoint the sound’s origin?”

“Don’t bother,” Devonte said, “all that glass and metal is causing reverb in the city. It’s practically impossible.”

“He’s right,” Bishop said.

Skylar tapped a foot, obviously irritated. “Well, based off the creature’s heading, where do you think it’s going?”

The ensign’s face went pale. “According to our pathing algorithm, if it doesn’t stop or change course, it’s going to carve right through Las Vegas.”

Devonte looked up from his laptop. “Mine says the same thing.”

“How long would it take to evacuate Vegas?” Skylar asked.

The general let out a hoarse, barking laugh. “Evacuate Vegas? You’d have better luck evacuating rats from the New York City subway.”

“Well we have to try,” Skylar shouted.

“I’ll communicate the situation to the nearest base,” the general said. “Any chance you two’s plan could work in the Nevada desert?”

“Actually,” Devonte said, “it would probably work better there than it would here.”

Skylar nodded in agreement.

“Then I’ll get you those welders too. Lieutenant Greenwood and I will be overseeing the mobilization of our military force to try and head the creature off. I’m leaving you both in charge of your own mission. Think you can handle it?”

Greenwood tapped the general on the shoulder and whispered something in her ear. The general pointed at Devonte. “Before you make your way to the hangar, report to the infirmary. Dr. O’Hara, make your way to the hangar and have the attendants prep the space to your specifications.”

Devonte and Skylar shared glances. Devonte gave a short nod and jogged off in the direction of the infirmary. Skylar went in the opposite direction.

#

The hangar was huge, and surprisingly empty. A few helicopters and fighter planes were stored, but nothing like what Skylar had expected. Sparks flew from places where unseen engineers worked diligently on repairs or upgrades. Skylar walked towards one such incendiary shower coming from the side of a fighter jet. The man was at the top of a ladder and was focused on welding a set of panels back to the nose of the craft. Skylar called up to the man. “Do you know who’s in charge around here?”

No response. She had to jump back to avoid a spark shower that got dangerously close to catching on her clothes. The glowing embers died silently on the ground.

“Excuse me,” she shouted, making her voice as loud as possible.

The man didn’t stop welding. He either couldn’t hear her or was choosing to ignore her.

Skylar looked around until she found a small hammer. She picked it up and tapped it gently, but forcefully, on the side of the ladder. The man’s torch cut off, and he looked down at her over his shoulder, the darkened visor of his helmet scanning her like a cold robotic eye. He clipped his torch and stick welder to a cradle hanging from the nose of the plane and began a careful descent down the ladder until he stood mask to face with Skylar. He held out a gloved hand.

“What?” Skylar said.

He pointed at the hammer then held out his hand once more.

“Oh,” Skylar said, placing the tool into the thick leather padded glove.

The man took the hammer and placed it back into his toolbox. He took off one glove, then the next, and finally removed his helmet. A matted pile of black curls came into view,