Kingdom of Monsters by John Schneider (latest novels to read .TXT) 📕

soldier.  She turned and tossed the crimson-stained weapon to Jonah, who caught it reflexively, the impact knocking droplets of gore into his face.

Naomi purloined a second rifle for herself, and then hunted through the carnage until she found clips.

Without waiting for Jonah, she poked her way past the collapsed entrance, looking out over the demolished yard.

Rudy and Jughead both sat at a short distance, immobile, like lions under a tree, momentarily off-the-clock.  In the yard behind them, Archie's eyes blinked their way, but the big rex continued to pant, as if trying to catch its breath.

Keeping a wary eye on all three dragons at once, Naomi started out across the grounds.

“Where are you going?” Jonah called softly.

Naomi pointed to the radio tower.

Cautiously, her rifle ready, Naomi made her way across the yard.  Cursing under his breath, Jonah followed.

The sickle-claws had left a trail of corpses right up to the front steps.  Jonah kept his eyes averted as Naomi pushed open the door.

From the broadcast booth upstairs, they heard the crackle of static, and a voice blaring over the speakers.

“This is General Rhodes.  Come in.  For God's sake, is anyone there?”

Chapter 29

Rosa could tell Shanna's leg was hurting her.

It was cold on the mountain, and despite being bundled by the fire, they had precious little cover from the wind beyond the vertical-hanging chopper, which itself rocked on the tenuously clinging vines as the gusts kept trying to snatch them all off the cliff.

Allison and Bud hung around Lucas, rocking together, unconsciously, a universal tempo of comfort.

Mr. Wilson occupied himself with keeping up the fire, frowning each time the vines holding the chopper above their heads creaked with the wind.

Rosa could picture him in the old world, out on the farm, one ear ever-perked for that malfunctioning sprinkler or pipe – a life of constant maintenance.

She tried to imagine young Maverick on the farm.

“That son of mine hasn't got a brain in his head,” Mr. Wilson had told her.  “But he's proven that he's damn hard to kill.  Which makes it beneficial to be standing next to him.”

He nodded, his tone one of giving fair praise.

“I'd say we've got better than even odds, if he pulls this off.”

Rosa had tried to take the comfort as it was intended.

Shanna was a little more certain.

“All they need is to get a clear signal,” she said.  “I can promise you General Rhodes is looking for us.”

Shifting under the mound of makeshift blankets, sacks, and tarps Cameron had wrapped around her, Shanna looked down into the valley.

“And he's not the only one, either.”

Rosa frowned.  As far as she could see, there was nothing but empty forestland below, bordered by sheer rock wall.

Shanna seemed to be staring at things unseen.

Rosa wondered if Shanna might be hallucinating as her own natural endorphins corralled around her injury.  Her leg was discolored and swelling, and no doubt quite painful.

Even for someone with perfect genetics.

Rosa still wasn't sure how much of what Shanna was telling her she believed.

Scratch that – she believed all of it – she was just having trouble taking it in.

It was whatever Shanna had – whatever odd crackle that seemed to spark at her touch – but Rosa simply had no doubt.

She rooted around in the chopper's medical kit, pulling out a needle, and a bottle of clear-liquid.  She turned to Shanna.

“This will help your pain,” she said.

But Shanna shook her head.  “I'm fine,” she said.

Rosa frowned.  “You're hurting.”

She knew it.  She could feel it.

But Shanna waved her off, shuffling closer to the fire.

Rosa knelt beside her.

“Shanna? Is something wrong?”

Shanna shut her eyes.

“Otto,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with regret, even a pang of remorse.

Rosa could feel a pulse of it herself.

“We always had an Otto around,” Shanna said.  “When I was little, my father replaced them like gerbils.  When one died, he just cloned another.  I was eight years old before I realized they weren't all the same one.”

Shanna smiled sadly.

“Otto was what the Area 51 guys used to sell it in the budget.  The vocalizations sold it.  He became an internal mascot, next to the dead alien.”

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Wilson interjected, “I thought you said the alien was fake.”

“I said the alien autopsy was fake.”

Shanna shook her head.

“It's funny.  Otto was like a fake too.  A genetically engineered novelty.  Barely mentioned to the higher-ups.  General Rhodes was probably peripherally aware of his existence, if at all.  He was the little lizard wearing hats or wigs in the JPEGs the interoffice Area 51 guys sent each other.  I never got one from them without an Otto in it.”

Shanna shifted closer to the fire, pulling the ratty covers tighter.

“He was dismissed as an old experiment.  A failure.  Even by my father.”

She shrugged, and Rosa actually felt the conflicting angst – uncertain whether she should feel hurt, or bereaved, or betrayed.

Or guilt?  Because once there had been love.

“To me, he was my pet,” Shanna said helplessly.  “He was my childhood friend.  Just like Rex and Congo.”

Rosa glanced around the circle.  Mr. Wilson had stopped poking the fire to listen.  Bud and Allison settled to a slow rock.  Even little Lucas regarded Shanna with a bit of puzzled concern.

Whatever she felt for the little lizard, it hurt.

“It's hard to forget a lifetime,” Shanna said, looking apologetic for the simple fact of it.  “Even after everything.  It only makes it worse.”

Rosa had worked the inner-cities as a doctor.  She'd met more than one mother whose son lay dying from a bullet wound – along with another mother whose son had fired the shot.  Sometimes they even killed each other.

So whose grief was more justified or sincere?

Or simply real?

“You know,” Shanna said thoughtfully, “when I was young, my father and I always played What's-Worse?”

Rosa knew that one.  “That was a running gag at my house,” she said, smiling at the memory.  “It always started with something my mother made for dinner.  Or something bad on TV.  What's worse?  A re-run of Days of Our Lives or the