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

had left only a short time ago with soda-pop flirts and smiles, now glared back at her with real anger.

That was not a good look in a man.  That was another thing the Coven had taught her early – be careful how far you push your mark – no one likes being suckered.

Doubtless, that was particularly true of a General.

Ginger stood as Rhodes entered with his armed escort, but he had frozen her with a raised finger, motioning her to sit back down.  Ginger complied readily enough.

“Can we help you, General?” she asked innocently.

Rhodes nodded to his men.  “Look around,” he said.

Ginger exchanged a brief glance with Luna, and then to Lily, herself.  Lily was uncertain if the look was of confidence, or if she were again taking the rap for circumstances.

Stevens and the other soldiers started turning the place up, pulling out drawers, turning over furniture.

The room, however, just wasn't that big.

“I'm not finding anything, sir,” Stephens said.

Ginger and Luna blinked at the General, completely deadpan.  Lily began to believe the fates were working in her favor this time.

Then Michelle walked in.

Rhodes raised an eyebrow in her direction.  “Well?”

Michelle pointed to the grating in the wall.

This time, it was Christine who rose to her feet – the Coven's other enforcer – stepping up to intercept Stevens as he reached for the grating.

Minus her pistol, however, she was somewhat declawed, and Corporal Stevens sat her down roughly.  Making no bones, he brandished his weapon in her face, before turning to pull the grate cover off the wall.

There was a sudden squealing, and movement like scurrying rats.

Scaly clawed rats.  The little lizard's toe-claws scraped metal as they vanished down the ventilation shaft.

Rhodes himself shoved the grating aside, peering inside.

It looked like a hamster-habitat – pack-rat and animal like – which seemed totally incongruent with what you knew about them.

Lying among the scattered pellets and torn bones of what looked like actual rats, there was an empty torn pack and several scattered pneumatic needles – all empty.

Christine was staring an evil-eye right through Michelle, who stared right back.  Two enforcers now at odds, although both knew, unarmed, Christine was nowhere near the handful Michelle was.

“Bitch,” Christine hissed venomously.

Michelle's lips crooked in a rough smile.

“Duh.”

Ginger and Luna both seemed utterly taken aback – Ginger, in particular, who was the keeper of the scrolls and utterly scandalized.   Michelle had always been their stalwart.  This was an almost ultimate betrayal.

“Why?” Ginger asked.

Michelle was utterly unabashed.

“Because I'm not going down with you.”

And at that, Lily understood.  Michelle had been their warrior for the same reason she had been a dancer – and a gangster – she was in it for the perks, and the lust to indulge her every fleeting desire – an utterly amoral creature of pure passion.

Personal sacrifice was not in her character.  The only authority she recognized was power, and only followed where there was personal benefit.

Lily didn't know what Rhodes had done to her in that interview, but he'd obviously convinced Michelle where that lay.

Michelle saw Lily looking at her, brokenhearted, the way a girl looks at an idolized big sister fallen from grace.

“I can't believe you did this to us,” Lily said.

Michelle's hardened face suddenly looked haunted.

Her eyes stole to the hole in the wall where Otto had disappeared.

“That little lizard,” she said, “it really IS the dragon.”

She eyed Lilly meaningfully.

“And don't think for one second that he's going to spare you.”

Rhodes nodded to Stevens.

“Take the group of them up to the detention level.”

The General eyed the gathered Coven.

“Ladies,” he said, “that will be your new home for the immediate future.”

Lily felt herself snatched-up roughly as Stevens angrily yanked her to her feet.

“Easy, soldier,” Rhodes cautioned.

There was a brief scuffle as Christine had to be restrained, but the rest of the Coven acquiesced obediently enough.

Luna, always the philosopher, had scowled.

“It wasn't like we weren't prisoners already,” she said.

“Well,” Rhodes countered mildly, “if you weren't, you are now.”

Chapter 43

The news from the Maelstrom site was every bit as bad as Major Tom had expected.

There was no telling how long Otto had been there – likely checking into the Mount via radio reports in chirps and quips taken from the slaughtered troops.  That left more than five-hundred individual warheads unguarded for weeks.  The little gremlins had no doubt been into everything from the launch-systems, to targeting, to the warheads themselves.

Tom shuddered to think what might have happened if Rhodes had provided the launch code.  And likely would have, because with the impending bloom, there was nothing left to them but nuclear options.

Options which had now been narrowed down to one submarine and a handful of planes capable of delivering warheads.

The sub, theoretically, was the most viable.  By its very nature, it was least affected by the EMPs that had nullified most modern tech – they were their own Faraway cages, and retained advanced targeting programs that could launch anywhere in the world.

The Anchorage currently waited to assume launch depth, holding upon orders.

Rhodes, however, had kept them on stand-by.  And Tom knew why, well enough.

So far, the only nuclear option they'd been able to employ successfully at all since KT-day was the most hands-on, and the most dangerous – piloted jets.  And while that was also their sparest resource, circumstances allowed for little margin of error with untested options.

Hail Marys were for last-ditch of desperation.  And while that might yet be hanging in the wings, for the moment, Captain Mason waited on-call.

Their saving grace was that this time they had the advantage of satellite-imagery, otherwise they wouldn't know where to shoot until the bloom was upon them.

Otto's screens were helpful too, having zeroed in on all his preferred targets.  Among the spinning digital global models detailing nuclear sites, volcanic/thermal hot-spots, along with oceans and active weather patterns, almost every screen at least had a pop-up with satellite views keyed to the energy signature of the Food of the Gods.

Tom glanced over his shoulder at the security-screen, which was still empty.

The little bastards